


Tangled

by suchanadorer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill, SRS 2012, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/3911.html?thread=14919#cmt14919">Prompt at SRS 2012</a>: <i>Cas has a knot in his feathers and has been looking uncomfortable for days. He's going to need help to get it out, but he's too embarrassed to ask for it...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled

Castiel rolls his shoulders, shifting and straining. He twists an arm up behind his back, but he can only manage to grab at the fabric of his jacket. He can’t get his arm up high enough to reach the matted feathers down low on his wing. It had been nothing more than a nuisance, but now the skin was starting to pull and it hurt, a twinge that had left him short-tempered and distracted all day.

“All right, what the hell’s going on with you?” Dean asks, looking up from the laptop. Sam had gone to the library, and he was picking up dinner on the way back, which left Dean alone in the hotel room, browsing online news articles and local blogs.

At least until a very grumpy and fidgety angel fluttered in and tried so hard to be unobtrusive that Dean couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” Castiel answers after a moment. He’s twisting and turning in front of the full-length mirror, trying desperately to look at his own back.

Dean sighs and slides out of his chair. He crosses the room and stands behind Castiel, one hand on each of the angel’s shoulders. Castiel jumps when Dean touches him, then goes very still.

“Looking for some sort of angelic Kick Me sign or something?” Dean asks, his eyes wandering over Castiel’s shoulders and back. “There’s nothing here.”

He brushes his hand lightly over the coat and Castiel sucks in a breath. “Wait, are you hurt?” Dean frowns and starts pulling at the coat, trying to get it off of Castiel’s shoulders until Castiel twists out of his grip.

“I am not injured,” he protests, and Dean fixes him with a knowing gaze. Castiel lowers his eyes. “I...” he starts, then goes silent for a moment. “This vessel is not hurt, but. It’s my wings.”

Dean straightens and takes a step back, surprise on his face. “Your wings can get hurt?”

Castiel can feel the heat on his face where he’s blushing. He clears his throat and his eyes skit around the room, looking anywhere other than where Dean is watching him with unabashed interest. “Yes. The, umm, the feathers are matted. Normally I ask one of my brothers to take care of it, or I do it myself-”

“But no one’s answering the holy hotline these days,” Dean supplies, and Castiel nods, grateful that he’s been saved having to explain further. “All right,” he says, rubbing his hands together, “what do we do?”

Castiel’s jaw drops and his eyes go wide. He had no idea it was possible for a body to feel this warm and this cold at the same time. “We do nothing, Dean. I will figure out a way to take care of this.”

But Dean is already moving towards him and rolling up his sleeves. “C’mon, Cas, it’s no big deal. I used to bathe Sammy. Cut his hair a couple times, too. This can’t be that different.”

“No, Dean.”

“Look. I’m not having you fussing and grumping here with me until Sam gets back. Let’s take care of this, then I can get back to work. No big deal.”

Castiel is convinced that there is not enough air in the room. He takes deep, gulping breaths as he backs away from Dean, stumbling and then sitting when his calves hit the end of the bed.

Dean walks past him, and for a moment Castiel calms down.

“What do we need?” Dean calls from the bathroom. “A wet washcloth? A comb? Scissors?”

He returns and dumps his supplies onto the bed where Castiel is still sitting, immobilized by panic. “Can we do this with you still dressed?” Dean asks, seemingly oblivious to Castiel’s internal meltdown. “Take off your coat, at least, so I don’t get it wet. Oh, hey, soap.”

He disappears into the bathroom again and Castiel peels off the coat, his brain running on autopilot at the thought of Dean touching his wings. He strips off his shirt and tie, too, until he’s naked from the waist up.

“There we go,” Dean says. Castiel turns his head to see Dean considering him for a moment, and he feels the flush creep along his skin again.

Dean grabs the extra chair from the table and drags it to the middle of the room, between the two beds. He claps a hand on Castiel’s bare shoulder.

“Here, come sit on this. It’ll be easier.”

Castiel follows obediently, letting Dean guide him so that he’s sitting facing the back of the chair. Dean pulls him and the chair closer to the bed with surprising strength, and Castiel wobbles a little, regaining his balance when Dean plants a hand between his shoulder blades.

“So,” Dean starts, slowly. “I’m guessing I have to see them in order to fix this. You wanna whip ‘em out?”

Castiel grabs at the fabric on his knees and takes a deep breath, centering himself. “Lean back,” he warns, looking back over his shoulder.

Dean flops back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. Castiel’s wings unfurl elegantly, more solid now than the shadows Dean had seen in the barn that first night. They are so dark that they seem to swallow the light in the room, and they span from wall to wall. Dean stretches to one side to catch a lamp that gets knocked over by the tip of one wing.

Castiel’s right wing is normal, and he folds it back against his body, covering his shoulder and back completely. The left one hangs at an odd angle, and Dean can see the clump of feathers stuck together near the base.

He sits up and reaches out, holding his hand over it but not touching it. “Does it hurt?” He asks, wonder and curiosity in his voice.

Castiel nods. He’s worried if he speaks that his voice will betray him, that Dean will know how much the idea of letting him touch his wings scares and excites him. He’s thought about it many times before, but that was just a fantasy. This is very real, and much more charged than he’d ever imagined.

“How do I start?” Dean’s voice is calm and gentle. Castiel had expected jabs about not being able to take care of himself, but there’s nothing suggesting that Dean is anything other than concerned.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers. “Angels don’t use water and combs, so I’ve never had to consider it before.”

He hears the scratch of Dean rubbing his hand over his face, and the shift of cloth as Dean moves closer. Castiel can feel the heat from Dean’s body and goosebumps break out along his skin.

Dean’s first touch to his wing is cautious. Castiel goes completely still and lets his eyes fall closed. He bites at his lower lip and tries to swallow down the small, pained noises that well up in his throat when Dean pulls at the feathers, trying to untangle them using just his hands.

The comb makes sharp little noises when it skitters over the feathers, and when it catches Castiel cries out.

“Okay, we’re not using that anymore,” Dean says quietly.

The water in the washcloth has cooled, but it’s still a welcome sensation when it trickles down into his feathers. It’s a contrast to the solid warmth of Dean’s hands. Castiel can feel his muscles relaxing, feel himself unwinding as Dean works through the matted feathers. Dean touches him with greater confidence now, and Castiel can feel the feathers starting to loosen.

Then Dean pushes his fingers down into Castiel’s feathers and Castiel grips the back of the chair so hard the wood creaks. Pleasure shoots through him, and he pants, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dean,” he moans, and Dean’s hand stops moving.

“I got you, Cas, I’m almost done,” Dean reassures him, resting his other hand on the small patch of skin between Castiel’s wings.

Castiel shifts in the chair, uncomfortably aware of how this human body is responding to Dean’s attention to his wings. Grooming was always an enjoyable past time among the Host, and was often done as an expression of affection, but Castiel can’t imagine that Dean harbors any such feelings for him. This is no different than stitching up a wound, or cutting Sam’s hair. It’s maintenance, nothing more.

“There, all done,” Dean announces, and Castiel stands up so fast that he topples the chair in his effort to get away from Dean’s touch. He moves across the room, stretching and flexing his wing, enjoying the freedom of movement without pain.

“No need to thank me, then.” Dean is right behind him again, and Castiel frowns.

“I apologize, Dean,” he says, staring out the window, not wanting to look at his friend while he makes his admission. “I shouldn’t have let you do this. Grooming is something special between angels, and contact with an angel’s wings elicits a reaction that I know you never intended.”

For a moment the room is silent, and Castiel considers disappearing, flitting off to a far corner of the universe until his shame passes.

“Is that what all that moaning and shuddering was about?” Dean asks, and Castiel can only nod dumbly. “Cas, were you turned on?” Dean pushes, and this time Castiel can’t even bring himself to nod.

“So if I do this, do you like it?” Dean asks, stroking the ridges of Castiel’s wings with both hands.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“What about this?” He continues, threading his fingers between the long, soft feathers.

“ _Dean._ ” Castiel’s voice is breathy and shaky, and he trembles when Dean repeats the motion.

“How about now?” Dean crowds in close, pushing his fingers deep into Castiel’s feathers and pressing his body into the narrow space between the wings. “Do you like that, Cas?” He growls, mouthing at the skin between Castiel’s shoulders.

“Dean, you have to stop,” Castiel protests, but it’s so good that he can’t bring himself to move away. It’s a connection in a way he’s wanted so badly with Dean, but he was sure he’d never have it.

“Stop?” Dean chuckles. “Oh hell no. You are horny and half naked. I want you so bad, and now I know how to get you.”

“We have to be done before Sam gets back,” Castiel points out.

“We will be,” Dean promises, giving him a wicked smile as he pushes Castiel back towards the bed.


End file.
